Hollow Victory
by tklivory
Summary: Sometimes perspective can come from a most unexpected source...


Alistair stood at the window in Denerim palace, seeing nothing of the city laid out before him. The impromptu dancing of the soldiers that had been unexpectedly granted additional years with their families, the bonfires surrounded by the few citizens of Denerim that yet remained as they clasped hands and wept with relief, the blue flicker as the weary mages journeyed from injury to injury healing those who would not be wounded again: these did not register in his reddened eyes.

The sounds of victory surrounded him with as little effect. The songs of joy, the cries of solidarity, the bustle of people running around the palace cleaning and preparing for the victory feast: these did not register in his deafened ears.

He saw only one creature, heard only one soul. He watched as the solitary figure sitting in the courtyard below his window raised his head again and let loose a howl of utter anguish for the one who would not return.

Alistair closed his eyes as the Mabari's howl again cut through to the emptiness within him. He closed his eyes and saw once more the damned afterimage that had been burned into his psyche, the slim silhouette of a young woman who had lost everything - once through the violence of a human lord, then again through the stubborn pride of a royal bastard - but had continued on. She had had nothing left to fight for save duty, a duty _he_ had abandoned, and she had completed the task that had been set before him.

He had followed her, that night, unable to stop himself. Unsure of what he could possibly do, he had slipped away from his royal bodyguards and ran through the piles of Darkspawn corpses to the top of the Fort. He had arrived just as she pushed Loghain out of the way, snatched up Eamon's sword from where it lay discarded, and threw herself at the weakened Old God with a cry of defiance. The sword descended, and the light, sound, and fury that swept over the Fort overwhelmed his own hoarse cry of loss and despair. By the time he realized she wouldn't be getting up again, the Darkspawn had already begun their retreat, and the victory celebration had already started.

He would never know how long he stood there in the shadows, looking at the motionless Archdemon and the lithe, fragile form lying broken beside it. He would never know when the Mabari came over and licked him, then gently gripped his hand and guided him downstairs and back to the palace. He would never know when he finally emerged from his stupor to find himself staring blankly out of the window overlooking the tiny courtyard below. He knew only that the first thing he heard after seeing her fall was the despairing howl of a Mabari who had lost the center of his universe, and the first thing he saw was the snout raised towards the stars that had dictated her loss.

The despairing howl once more cut through the air, as it had since the night sky had convulsed with the bright white of a hero's sacrifice. He wanted to howl himself and beat the air with his fists, wanted to smite the world that dared allow such an event to occur, wanted to run his sword through every person that celebrated in the city beyond the window. "She's dead," he whispered, but it did not affect the celebrants dancing in circles around the fires that consumed Darkspawn corpses. _"She's dead!"_ he screamed, before collapsing in front of the window and gripping his head in his hands. "And I did nothing."

Suddenly a wet nose intruded itself upon his awareness. Startled, he turned to the Mabari that had suddenly appeared next to him. A long wet tongue swept over his face, removing the tears that wet his cheeks. A low whine filled the room as the Mabari butted his head into Alistair's chest. Desperately gripping the one being who understood his grief, Alistair buried his head in the soft fur next to him and whispered, "I'm sorry, boy. I'm so sorry." A low whuff answered him before the Mabari moved out of Alistair's grip. Once again, the powerful jaws wrapped around Alistair's hand and compelled him to movement. Uncaring of where he was led, he stumbled along behind the hound, not seeing the halls they navigated or the crowds they passed.

Eventually, the Mabari halted and released Alistair's hand. Forcing his eyes to focus, Alistair tried to take in his surroundings. He was in a room he recognized, a small tack room tucked away next to the Landsmeet chamber, where the pages slept during marathon sessions. A man sat on a bench set to the side of the room, motionless in the subdued candlelight. Alistair's canine guide barked sharply, and the man jerked as he turned to face them. Alistair found himself looking into the eyes of the man he had once considered his greatest enemy.

Those cool grey eyes gazed back at him, flicking over the younger man's reddened eyes and tightly gripped hands. A tension hung between the two as they considered each other: the former Warden and the new Warden, each gaining what the other had lost through hatred and pride.

Alistair tried to remember the vitriol he had felt towards Loghain, the pure burning sensation that had seemed to sustain him through the worst battles early in the Blight before another, gentler emotion had replaced it - love. A love that had been eclipsed and ultimately displaced by the old, familiar hatred during the Landsmeet, a love that had been betrayed more cruelly than anyone could possibly deserve.

A love that would never, could never, return. Weakness bent his knees as the finalilty of that realization swept over him, and Alistair collapsed onto an empty bench next to him.

Loghain Mac Tir sighed, straightening into a martial posture. "You have been informed, then."

Unable to speak, Alistair could only nod.

Loghain closed his eyes. "Maric was my dearest friend," Loghain said, with the same quiet dignity that had settled over him when he had submitted himself to her justice at the Landsmeet, "and I betrayed both of his sons." He opened his eyes to meet Alistair's gaze. "Anora was all I loved after my wife died, and I betrayed her through my acceptance of Howe." The pain in Loghain's eyes grew deeper as he continued his list. "Fereldan was my honor, my duty, and my purpose, and I betrayed it for the sake of phantom fears and past prejudice."

Alistair remained silent, wrestling with what the older man was telling him.

"I betrayed everything I valued, everything I held dear, and everything that mattered," Loghain murmured, "and she still gave me a new honor, a new purpose, and a new duty. I will never forget her," he said, "and I will never celebrate her death."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Alistair turned his head away from Loghain. Suddenly a hand settled on his shoulder, and a voice murmured, "I will, however, celebrate her life and all that she gave me." The hand gripped him tightly for a moment before letting go. "As should you."

Eyes snapping open, Alistair found Loghain sitting beside him on the bench. "This is not Fereldan's victory, young Alistair. This is not my victory, and it is not Weisshaupt's victory. This is _her_ victory. Honor her memory - honor her by doing what she is not here to do." The older man stood, slowly, as if the years settled on him more than they had before. Alistair watched him cross the room before pausing at the doorway and turning towards him once more.

"Forgive Fereldan." His gaze turned towards the Landsmeet chamber, obviously remembering the events that had occurred in it only a few short weeks ago. With a heavy sigh, he left, and Alistair barely heard his final words. "Forgive yourself."

Alistair never knew how long he sat there in the candlelit gloom, the silent Mabari lying next to his feet. He only knew that when he left the room, he left knowing that her last victory had, at last, been achieved.


End file.
